Rev. Erudite Redneck, B.S., B.S., M.A., M.Div.

Ooooh, it's dark and blustery and blowy out there. Could be about 20 degrees cooler, to suit me -- but this is close enough, so I'll take it.

Reminds me of late fall semesters in college, surrounded by books, studyin' in the stately piano room at Bennett Hall at Oklahoma State (pictured).

Today, it's the kitchen table, not the piano room, and just a few books, one I'm reviewing and a few others on related topics for reference; this laptop, not a typewriter (thank God); and a string of 1940s crime-detective flicks on in the other room for background noise.

The Western Channel is in a rut or something; the same few movies are on all the time. It's a shame because that kind of background would be more appropriate for the review I'm writing, which is of a book based on the journal of a cowboy on an early-early (1868) cattle drive from Texas, through Indian Territory to Missouri.

Goal: Get it done by noon, or at least in hand; then undestroy the kitchen and finish laundry (ongoing); then do some work-work; and if time make a dash to do a little "FBI work," which is we the ERs call "Christmas shopping."

Then, settle in to watch Missouri kick Sooner football butt.

--ER